"When the lightning talks, he says darkness ... are stenographic notations of a blinding clarity and of an enigmatic silence" (George Steiner in "Fragments"). The successive crossing of/between images-within-its-own-reality, including the sound, determines in this "honeymoon killers" an identity without precedent.
Just once I heard the world reveling. Then it was over. But I listened to the bells, the screams, the reports, the vodka whisper of my husband's groan. Then it was over. So I listened to tales in the absence of tellers and tore at my own mouth. Finally, I came to you my disease, to inquire about this city's gray-filled park, the hill, this bench, the gems spilled willy-nilly as if by mistake. Are they mine?
Moments that cannot be adequately captured in a film? If this is indeed what Krolikiwicz aims for, he succeeds; the film is a hazy, distant, fascinating chronicle of the circumstances that lead to a brutal and terrifying murder, and the strange warring humanity and inhumanity in its aftermath. It's strange and unfamiliar and very, very good.
Cioran: "Don't trust the man who can't become a case!". The magnificent singularity of the characters, the situation they are caught in that cannot be extended into an allegory, the obstination in sin, in which love appears as an unexpected shadow instead of being the light, the kaleidoscope of reverted colours that flicker swiftly from drama to occasional grotesque - all this make the movie a marvellous watch.